Buyer's Market
by Esse
Summary: Wishes have a way of turning around and biting a person on their *ahem*.


_**Disclaimer:**__ The characters of FFVIII belong to _Square_, not Esse. But given enough time, Seifer and Zell will eventually slip into public domain. Then she'll get her chance. All she has t' do is outlast _Square_. Until then, she makes no money from their usage, their musage, or their occasional abusage. _

_**Notes:**__ There's angst — and then there's *_teenage_* angst. Guess which one the good folks at Balamb Garden are suffering from. Know the difference, and keep a sense of humor about ya. _

_**More Notes:**__ Gift ficcie for Tammy. Belated, but well meant. I just can't seem to get anything done in a timely manner. _

_**Warnings:**__ A bit of swearing. Some innuendo — mostly on Irvine's part. And a depressed Zell. That's it. Really. Now read the fricken story already! _

_**FF Notes:**__ First posted at calicodragon 12/31/2002. Minor formatting changes to comply with FF. Shounen ai._

.oO0Oo.  
**Buyer's Market  
**.oO0Oo.

Zell was mad. Not angry, not irate — not a smoldering bundle of conflicting feelings that urged him to rend, maim, destroy — but mad. As in eye-rolling, fist-clenching, teeth-baring laugh-until-it-hurts-them-more-than-it-hurts-you mad. Quick-fire copper-bright dye-your-poodle-pink mad. It surged; it seethed; it tested for boundaries it had already passed. It lapped at the edges, yapped from the corners, and lolled like the beastly monstrosity it was in the middle of the splintered remains of sanity.

Then the world snapped back into place, and he was but a young man standing alone in the center of the ballroom's floor, dress uniform dripping redly on the silver-streaked marble, smelling of fruit-punch and the slightly bitter tang of illicit alcohol. And from the circle around him came laughter — tittering laughter, bellowing laughter, the polite laughter of those more embarrassed than not to be caught witnessing the humiliation of a person who'd taken more humiliation than anyone could reasonably be expected to handle.

So he unleashed his grin, and bowed extravagantly to his erstwhile date, and lower yet to the smirking man who still held in his hands the leaded-crystal bowl. Grinned — a showing of fangs to those too blind and ignorant to recognize the threat. Then straightened — his body, his uniform, his very being that only wanted to huddle and run and hide from the laughter. Teeth flashing, eyes gleaming, and the small muscles in his face trembling from the effort it took to keep all in place.

"Your pardon," he tilted his head in the direction of the doe-eyed girl, whose attention was more on her dress than on him, as she searched the costly silk for any stray spatterings of crimson, "but I think it best to call it an early evening. If you don't mind?" Golden eyebrows raised into fine, shocked arches added eloquence to his plea, while his thoughts were hidden behind the golden lashes of lowered lids.

"Of course, of course." Inspection done, she let the folds of her dress fall, a shimmer of billowing pleats from waist to ankle. Already she was turning, seeking a new partner to complement her dance…

And Zell stalked out of the ballroom, gaze fixed on some point agonizingly far ahead, while rivulets of scarlet ran from the hem of his jacket, and the cuffs of his sleeves. He didn't know what was wrong with him; didn't know what it was about him that made perfect strangers pull demeaning pranks, or cast out derogatory remarks. He tried to be likable; to be helpful; to be charming. And much like the punch, it was usually thrown back into his face.

As it was to be now. He paused on his trek back to his room to nod respectfully at Squall, who was passing in the other direction, with Rinoa — a colorful tropical bird in silks of seven colors — latched onto his arm. Rinoa, who cawed in a voice befitting her gown, "Oh Zell! Whatever happened to you?"

"To me?" And he lifted his arms as if surprised, while vermilion puddled about his soft leather boots. "Why, I suppose someone took issue with my dancing." He ran his left hand through sticky, pink-tinted bangs, spiking them more wildly than even his sense of fashion dictated. "And this, of course, was so much more polite than tapping me on the shoulder, asking to cut in, don't ya think?"

Rinoa tittered, hands raised to her mouth, the coral pink of her nails matching perfectly the glossy color of her lips.

Squall, though, was unamused. Which wasn't unusual, but one could have hoped for better, from someone a person might occasionally call friend. "You're making a mess." His voice was flat with indifference — a shame, since his face held promise of so much more. "You will clean this up."

"Aye." And the young blonde watched while the Commander walked away, his Sorceress a multi-hued disaster fluttering breezily at his side. Zell stared after them until they were out of sight, then fixed his gaze upon the marble tiles of the hall, which were liberally smeared with the remnants of punch.

He thought that, perhaps, he should cry. Should howl, and shout his outrage. But while his eyes burned, they remained dry, and his throat was almost too tight to breathe, let alone scream. He settled for running a sticky-sweet knuckle across his face, while a pout indicative of disappointed expectations flitted across his mouth.

"I wish…"

"Yes?"

The tattooed boy blinked at the voice, which echoed down the hall like a whispered blasphemy. He raised his head, and spotted the figure standing across from him; a figure that he knew had not been there a moment before.

"Who are you?"

"That is your wish?" And the man stepped away from the wall he was leaning against, wry humor twisting his lips and gleaming warmly from his shadow-dark eyes. "And here I thought you might be unreasonable. Wish for wealth, for power — even the moon. There have been those that have done so."

Zell shook his head, sending punch flying out in a fine spray. The man — darkly elegant, and darkly beautiful — alarmed him. Instinct urged him to run; training forced him to be still. "I — don't —" Nails bit into the palms of his hands when his fists clenched, and diluted traces of alcohol burned in the cuts.

"Not a wish then; just a question?" The man crossed his arms, and resumed leaning against the wall. "I'm crushed, truly, that you don't recognize me." Thinly drawn brows darker than pitch rose sardonically. "After _all_ we've been through, together…" His voice — deep, and rich, and most of all, _dark_ — grew nostalgic. "My dear, it's enough to break my heart."

"I don't know you." Zell decided, as so many had before him, that discretion was the better part of valor — but his legs stubbornly refused to obey his commands. They, it seemed, were too busy trembling. Which was foolish, since the man across the way had hardly been threatening, just terribly, terribly sinister.

"Ah, but you do." The man shook his head sadly, ebony hair tangling on his shoulders. "But not, perhaps, in this form. Imagine, if you will," and his hands moved descriptively through the air, and his eyes reflected burning red, "wings, like such."

"No…" For the young man knew then, beyond doubt, who it was standing so innocuously against the wall. "You — can't…" And he quickly checked his Junctions. As he had feared, one was missing. One that he had grown so dependant on, its absence came as a physical shock.

"Yes, I can." He stretched luxuriously, the heavy black brocade of his outfit rustling softly. "I admit, I was weakened after so many eons of captivity. There was little I could do, except come when you called me. But now, my strength has returned." A smile broke free; he was pleased with the world in general. "And I am — somewhat — thankful to you, for releasing me."

"Diablos." The name came out cracked, past lips gone dry. Zell stumbled back, his shoulders smacking the wall behind him.

"Mmm-hmm. In the flesh, so to speak." Teeth flashed brightly — far brighter than could be accounted for in the corridor's dimmed lighting. "And I am feeling generous, my dear. For a small fee — a pittance, really — I'm willing to grant that wish you were about to make." He slinked forward, the shadows tumbling after him like wayward puppies, until he was standing uncomfortably close to the golden-haired boy. "Gracious of me, is it not?"

Azure eyes flicked from side to side, unwilling to fix upon the Guardian Force. "I know how this story goes," Zell said, inching further down the wall, away from the source of his panic. "Ma told me the fable enough times. And while your offer's generous," he swallowed convulsively, "I'd sorta like to keep my soul."

And against all expectations, Diablos laughed. A merry laugh, a bit shocked; deep, and rich, but surprisingly not dark at all. "Your soul? Is that what you think I want?" He wiped at his eyes, brushing away moisture. "As if I'd know what to do with the thing!" He continued to chuckle, unable to bring his mirth under control.

"Hey! What's wrong with my soul?" The tattooed boy forgot his earlier fear. He'd had enough of being laughed at for one evening.

"Hmm?" Diablos managed to stop giggling. "Nothing; nothing, my dear. I'm sure it's a perfectly lovely soul. It would have to be, of course, for you're such a perfectly lovely person. It's just — I had a rather different fee in mind."

"Oh." Zell blushed, the blood rising painfully to his cheeks. It was seldom that he was complimented, and the only time he'd heard that particular word used in regards to himself was when Selphie had called him a perfect idiot. "Well, then… I… What?"

"I'm desirous of your presence for coffee, tomorrow, if it fits into your schedule?" The ebony-haired man ran soothing hands down the fabric of his shirt in a sudden fit of nervousness.

"C-coffee?" the tattooed boy stuttered, eyes large, and round, and imperfectly blue. "You're gonna grant me a wish, and that's all you want? I could wish for anything."

"No; the deal is that I will grant the wish you were _going_ to make." He shrugged his shoulders fretfully, no longer an intimidating figure, but only a man, ill at ease. "I do know what it is. And I had hoped — ah — that we could talk. But the coffee, that would be my treat."

"It sounds too good to be true." Rubbing his hands together for warmth, Zell thought carefully. "Are you _capable_ of granting my wish?"

"Such a simple thing is well within my powers." Diablos' eyes gleamed bright ruby, then dulled back to sable. "Sometimes a person has to be careful with the wording, but your wish is straightforward enough. Just speak it, and the deal will be sealed."

"I —" he hesitated, wondering if he had the right to make such a request. Then he remembered cold, unforgiving hazel eyes, and his resolution firmed. "I wish Squall felt the pain I feel. That, for one day, he could be as miserable as me. Unloved, uncared for… That — that's not too much to ask, is it?"

"No, it's actually quite fair." The Guardian Force tapped one slender finger against the young man's chest. "And it is done." He smiled softly, gleaming white teeth even brighter against wine-dark lips. "What time should I meet you tomorrow?"

"11:00… 11-ish I should be free. Where…?"

"The cafeteria, for now. It's someplace you're familiar with." He stepped away, looking back over his shoulder. "Non-threatening, yes? And now I really must be going. There are, after all, things that need doing."

"You won't hurt Squall, will you?" Breathing deeply, Zell began to regret his wish. He wasn't vindictive by nature — just bullied, and abused, and tormented past bearing.

Diablos continued walking away. "The little storm cloud is perfectly safe from me, my dear. Your intent wasn't to harm; I respect that." He winked, an unsettling gesture. "Good night."

The golden-haired boy watched the GF walk away, much the same way he had stared at the Commander and his wife earlier that evening. "That's not reassuring; not at all." He glanced at the speckled marble of the floor, and sighed, briefly wondering where the nearest janitorial closet was. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"Talking to yourself again, Chicken?"

Hunching his shoulders, the tattooed blonde turned around, keeping his gaze firmly on the floor, lest a wayward glance at this newest bit of trouble shatter him completely. "I really don't have time, Seifer. I hafta clean up…" His hand swept out, indicating the hall. "And I don't know when Squall will be back by."

"That hardly seems fair." Narrowing his eyes, the scarred man estimated the time it would take to clean the hall. "You just got back in from supervising that group of cadets, didn't you? The ones Quistis wrote off as lost causes?"

"Yeah." Zell shifted his weight from foot to foot, his socks soggily bunching up around his toes within the confines of his boots. "They're good enough kids — they just need a little extra attention. Quistis — she likes perfection. She just doesn't understand how hard it is for some of us to achieve it."

"Heh. At least she knew enough t' send them to you." Seifer reached out and touched one pink-tinted spike. "Mess that you are. Tell ya what," he pulled his hand back, stuffing it into the pocket of his dress jacket, "you go on, and get yourself cleaned up. Ya smell all fruity."

"But…"

"SeeDs shouldn't be wandering around, smelling fruity. Unless they're Selphie. Or Irvine. Or, umm, Nida. He always smells like honeydew…" The taller man smirked — more amused with himself than anything. "What a thing t' remember about a guy. Anyway, go back to your room, shower, rest, all right? I'll clean up here."

Zell tilted his head, azure eyes confused. "I don't understand. Why would you want to help me?"

"What, with us being such vicious enemies, right?" Seifer removed his hand from his pocket, gloveless. "Maybe I think you're doing a really good job with the children, and deserve a break. Maybe I think — you know, whatever. Or maybe you just really look like you could _use_ the help right now."

"I — Seifer —" he pulled at his damp sleeves, the material cold to the touch. "You won't just walk off and leave it, will you? If this doesn't get cleaned, Squall'll demote me. Not that I mind that much; there's not much further I can fall."

The older youth shook his head. "Trust me on this; there're depths you can't begin to imagine. I'll mop this up. Then, if I feel like it, I might go pick a fight with Squall. Someone needs to keep him humble. But as for you: Shoo! I think you're done dripping."

"Okay." Zell started to walk away. "I — owe you one."

"It's all right." Seifer waved jauntily. "I'll have it done in no time." He looked around the hallway again, his smile fading along with the other boy's footsteps. "As soon as I figure out where they hide the mops…"

.oO0Oo.

Morning rituals are pleasant things, reassuring to a person newly wakened and still trodding the outer edges of fancy. They become a hindrance, though, when a person wakes up five hours late due to someone resetting the alarm clock. Zell — who hovered uncertainly in the center of his room, trying to decide if he should grab a quick shower, or make his bed — was tempted to write the entire day off as a loss, and crawl back underneath his heavy quilt to hide. But Irvine was sure to be in the cafeteria, and Irvine — as Zell's leading suspect in the matter of the malfunctioning alarm clock — needed a stern talking to.

Besides the fact that he had a certain date to keep.

Which only increased his desire to hide in his blankets.

Figuring he was clean enough from his unplanned early-morning shower, he hastily dressed in a rumpled uniform, rolling up the sleeves to hide the tattered cuffs. The average SeeD was trained to use weapons when fighting; his hands-on approach — while more emotionally satisfying than taking aim and picking the creature off from a distance — led to his outfit snagging on unfortunate bits of horn, scale, and claw. The Garden, looking to minimize expenditures, had denied his request for a replacement. He refused to allow it to upset him; his SeeD pay was more than adequate to supply him with clothing, if only he could get the time authorized to go out and _buy_ it.

His dress boots were stained, but serviceable, if he ignored the way the punch had stiffened the once-supple leather. They were also damp, an unpleasantness he wasn't prepared to face. Instead he pulled on his cross-trainers, knowing that they clashed with his uniform, but it was either them, or his beach sandals, and Squall had already reprimanded him once for wearing those in the Garden's halls.

He half-heartedly straightened his bed, pulling the quilt up over the pillows, and smoothing the most obvious wrinkles. Then, with one last glance at the clock (which by now had given up entirely on telling the time, and was displaying, instead, the current exchange rate between the universally accepted Gil and the Winhillian Lire), he left his room and began making his way to the cafeteria.

It wasn't, contrary to what the cadets believed, the hotdogs he looked forward to while waiting in line. If anything, he loathed the dubious meat-mock-ups. The one time he'd actually gotten a plateful, he'd choked, unable to swallow the first bite. Yet he asked for them, time and again, precisely because he _knew_ they'd be sold out. He could then, without anyone taking much notice, choose something a bit healthier — a nice salad, or a broiled fillet of Balambfish — to fill up on, without tarnishing the image he'd created for himself. People expected him to be a pig, even though, more often than not, he came to the table empty-handed. If he ate even a tenth of what his — friends — assumed he did, he was sure he'd soon lose sight of his toes.

Hotdog-less, he instead approached the table with a warming bowl of cream of wheat, which was what he'd wanted all along. That, sprinkled with powdered maple and swimming in nonfat milk, was a comfort food, and comfort was something he felt he sorely needed this morning.

"Irvine," he greeted the table's other occupant while sitting down.

"Mmmm." The long-haired man looked up from his plate of huevos rancheros. "You're running late this morning."

"Really?" Zell jabbed viciously at his cereal with his spoon. "Imagine that. Me, late. Why is that?" He valiantly fought down the impulse to dump his cream of wheat into the other man's lap. "Could it be that _someone_ messed with my alarm? That instead of waking me up, it's busy flashing stock quotes? From Winhill?"

"Oh." Irvine dropped his fork, letting it clatter against the side of his plate. "Damn." His lilac eyes were wide, and apologetic underneath the brim of his hat. "I'd completely forgotten. I — I meant to fix it, after what happened last night, and all…"

"Of course." The blonde sighed, and continued eating. "Because you thought I'd handle your pity so much better than your ill-timed practical joke, huh?"

The mahogany-haired man sighed as well, but his appetite was effectively gone. "That isn't what I meant."

"Are you positive?" He wasn't sure why he was pressing the point; he knew he'd be happier without knowing the answer. "Think real carefully on it, Kinneas. How was I supposed to interpret your excuse?"

"As just a lame excuse meant to weasel my way out of trouble!"

"Uh-huh. Well, just as long as we're both aware that it _was_ lame." The azure-eyed boy finished with his breakfast, and pushed his bowl away. "I missed that lecture on automated guidance systems. Care to wager how many ranks I get knocked down for that?"

Irvine fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. "Look on the bright side; how much lower can you possibly go?"

"Funny you should say that…" Shaking his head, Zell wiped at his lips with a napkin he'd crushed in his hand. "You wouldn't believe the conversations I had after — after I left the ball. Which, by the way — never let it be said Zell Dincht ain't poised as hell." Unexpected, his usual humor returned, a welcome friend whose presence he'd missed. He grinned, slow and easy. "I was practically dripping with dignity. Only, it was a little hard t' see, underneath all that punch."

The Galbadian grinned as well, more in relief than at the strained joke. "Just a little. Speaking of which — when are you going to pay the jerk back?"

"Why? Already taking bets?"

"Yeah." Irvine pushed small bits of egg around on his plate. "You'll get the normal 20%, of course."

"About that…" Zell pushed back his bangs, annoyed that he hadn't had time to spike them. "Something — sorta came up. I don't know when I'll get the chance t' pay him back. Got a lot on my mind, you know?"

"Keeping my mouth shut." Lilac eyes sparked with mischief. "On the other hand…" he flicked one long finger, pointing at something behind the younger man. "He wouldn't happen to be the _something_ that sorta came up, would he? He's been glaring at me since you sat down."

"Wha?" The blonde-haired boy looked behind him, mouth gaping open. "Oh shit!" He jerked his head back forward, consternation written clearly upon his features. "I thought I'd dreamed him. Hoped I'd dreamed him… Damn." He rubbed at his eyes, and wondered if it would cause too much of a scene if he ran from the cafeteria screaming. "Irvine, I gotta go. I promised him… Promised him coffee. At 11:00. Which is prolly why he's looking so pissed."

"Look , Zell, if you don't want to talk to the guy…"

"First pity, now protection. No, no," he waved off his friend's quick denial, "I appreciate the thought, but no." Zell stood, and pulled at the hem of his jacket. "This is something — I gotta see through." He ran his fingers through his hair again, feeling vulnerable, but trying not to show it. "He just did me a favor I wasn't expecting."

"Okay." Irvine decided to let the matter drop, for now. "Meet up with you in ParaSci?"

"Dunno. My evening _had_ been free…" The blonde shrugged expansively. "I'll try and make it, but don't hold a seat."

"You need the extra credit."

"I _need_ a new occupation." He began walking towards the dark man waiting in the corner, but paused, looking back at his friend over one shoulder. "And Irvine? Fix the damn clock, please?" To the sound of the Galbadian's chuckles, he continued forward, somewhat nervous. His fingers, having little else to do, fiddled with the gilt buttons of his jacket.

"You're late." Diablos glowered from the chair he occupied, hunching over the small café table.

"Yes." Seeing no reason to deny the accusation, Zell pulled the remaining chair out, and sat. "Does it null our agreement?"

The Guardian's scowl deepened; the expression settled comfortably on his face. "Do you want it to?" Straightening his posture, he pushed forward a ceramic mug. "Mocha latte, though I don't know how warm it'll be. I purchased it some time ago."

"Oh." The blue-eyed boy accepted the cup, peering down into the muddy depths. He wasn't sure what to do; when he'd agreed to meet for coffee, he hadn't expected to actually _have_ coffee. He pulled his hand away from the side of the cup, uncomfortable. "It's still steaming."

"From the heat of my ire, no doubt." Diablos tapped his fingers against the table; the noise they produced sounded nothing like tapping. "Is the thought of conversing with me truly so repugnant that you'd break your given word?"

Zell ducked his head, bangs falling across his eyes in an untidy jumble. "Hey, I'm here, aren't I?" The tip of his index finger brushed against the rim of the cup then withdrew, tingling with the sensation of heat. Without thinking, he popped it into his mouth, sucking at the possible burn. "You can read my mind — you know why I'm late. It's not like I planned on standing you up."

Diablos' shoulders slumped, and he was once again hunching. "Then why did you breakfast with that other man?"

"'Cause I'm a flake?" Blowing on his finger, Zell inspected it critically. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd half-way convinced myself that last night — didn't happen. Our meeting, that is." He rolled weary eyes. "Woulda thought I'd dreamed everything, if I hadn't've woken up with my boots thrashed. Irvine screwed with my alarm clock. My only thought was t' get here and yell at him."

"He was laughing when you left." The Guardian's voice was tainted with something — dark, and oddly petulant.

"Prolly 'cause he finds me as humorous as everyone else here does," Zell said, wondering if he should give the mug one last chance. "People laugh at me all the time. You were in my mind; you've _heard_ it. Besides which," he tilted his head, indicating a table near the front of the room, "I don't see why you're so upset. Squall walked in ten minutes ago, and he's not acting the least bit different. Weren't you supposed to make him miserable?"

"What?" Onyx eyes gleamed red as Diablos shifted his attention. "Are you implying I failed to honor my end of the agreement?"

"'Unloved, uncared for…'" The tattooed boy fisted his hands in his lap, careful of the reddened finger. He felt cheated, but was unsure how far he could push the other man. Guardian Forces were renowned for their volatile natures. "One day of knowing the — the—"

"Emptiness that gnaws at your soul." The unknowably ancient entity across the table sighed, an achingly mortal exhalation. He stared at the younger man, lips pursed. "I _am_ sorry, my dear. I started this morning in an absolutely vile mood; this hasn't gone at all how I'd planned. But trust me on this: Squall **is** miserable."

"How can you say that?" Zell crossed his arms, keeping his attention fixed on the object under discussion. "He's there, having lunch with Rinoa, just like he has each day this week. He's scarcely acting like he's in emotional distress."

"Looks can be deceiving." Diablos passed one hand over the latte, leaching away some of the heat. "You should know that. Your Commander hides behind an exceptionally well-built façade. The poor boy hasn't had a single moment of true happiness since he first met up with his little witch." He twitched the velvet collar of his cloak back into place. "Rinoa was due to depart Balamb Garden this morning, to visit with her long-estranged father. Her absence would have thrilled Monsieur Leonhart to no end."

"Rinoa was going to leave?"

"Indeed. For several months." The darkly-dressed man offered a shy smile. "It took me most of the night, but I persuaded her to cancel her trip. Ah, not as myself," he added hastily. "I do have some tact."

Zell gaped, disbelieving. "Rin-Rin was going to leave, but you talked her into staying?"

"…Yes?" Diablos answered, confused by his tablemate's response. "And Squall remains quite miserable."

"Along with the rest of us!" The younger man gripped the edge of the table, trying to control his outrage. "Do you have any idea how wonderful it would've been t' have a break from Rinoa? She's, like, always around, fluttering and squawking!"

"That isn't what you wished for." The Guardian resisted the urge to pout. "You wanted Squall miserable; I made sure he stayed that way."

"But — you hardly did anything!" the blonde spluttered, shaking hands latching onto the now lukewarm mug. "You… You cheated!"

"I most certainly did not. I told you that granting your wish would be simple. I do remember saying that." Diablos stroked his chin thoughtfully, while sooty lashes lowered to cover his eyes. "And really, my dear, how much did you expect for a cup of coffee?"

"I don't know what I was expecting." Tired, and out of sorts, he picked up the latte and sipped at it. "French Vanilla, maybe." He wiped foam from his lips, then drank more deeply. "So what would you've done if I'd wished Selphie miserable?"

"She's the excitable girl, favors yellow?"

"Yeah."

"I would have showered her dreams with images of the agony the survivors of the Galbadian missile base live in. There were a few, you know. Less, now. The suicide rate among them is extraordinarily high."

Zell flinched, and liquid sloshed from the rim of his cup. "That's harsh."

"Yes, and she would have scarcely deserved it." The ebony-haired man pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and mopped up the spill. "She's a good-hearted child. I wouldn't have offered to fulfill your wish, had that been what you asked for."

"I guess I should be glad. I'd hate to think what could've happened had you been — morally ambivalent. My wish could a' hurt Squall…"

"Had I been the sort that delights in such mischief, I suppose." Looking around, Diablos tried to spot a trashcan in which to toss the soiled napkin. "But as I assured you last night, you held no malice in your heart. I appreciate that, I truly do. It's refreshing, after the sort of minds I've had to muck about in, in the past. Vipers, for the most part. Very unpleasant." Giving up, he dropped the soggy paper back on the table. "Much like I imagine the person who arranged this room was. The place has no sense of harmony."

"What do you expect from a military school?" The blonde finished his drink, the last gulp thick with chocolate syrup. "The comfort of the cadets wasn't high on the list of priorities. I'm grateful for what we do have — which is likely due to the original Centra designers, than anyone involved with the creation of Garden. Cid has abysmal taste, and hires people likewise minded."

"Indeed." The onyx-eyed man pulled a silken handkerchief from a pocket (black, of course), and fastidiously wiped his fingers. "It shows." Satisfied, he slipped the scrap of silk back into place, and smiled charmingly. "And since you are now done with your drink, I will leave you to your day."

"You're leaving?" Zell looked up as the other man stood. "I — I thought…" He worried at his bottom lip with sharp teeth. "I'm not sure _what_ I thought." Sheepishly, he offered a smile of his own. "You're not — what I expected." He wondered if he should stand as well, but was forestalled by a hand gently laid against his shoulder.

"I seldom am." The remark was cryptic, and Diablos was proud of himself for thinking of it.

The tattooed boy twitched underneath the unexpected touch. "Thanks for the latte. It was good."

"My pleasure." The look of mild amusement had never fully faded from the dark-haired man's face. "Few people trust me enough to accept food from my hands."

Zell blinked, azure eyes grown wide. "Oh."

"Not that there's anything to fret over. I find that sort of game unsporting." The Guardian offered a small bow, the material of his outfit rasping softly. "I prefer to gain a person's company by more honest means."

"Oh." The blonde believed the other's statement, though he'd be the first to admit that he was seldom a good judge of character. "That makes sense." He offered his hand, feeling it was the appropriate thing to do. "Will you be staying around the Garden?"

Bemused, Diablos accepted the handshake. "Yes, I will be around. And we'll likely run into each other again, my dear. This is, after all, a small place. A microcosm, in every way." He bowed once more, over their joined hands, his inky hair slithering forward, the ends catching along the rim of his collar. Then he relinquished his grip, nodded, and strode away.

Zell released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. "This is so incredibly wrong…" He picked back up the mug, noticing for the first time its chipped appearance, the ceramic cracked from too much usage. A perfectly normal Garden-issue mug. The latte it had contained was debatable. "I'm an idiot."

"Well, your choices are sometimes foolish, but I wouldn't go so far as to label you an idiot."

The young man dropped the cup, startled at the unexpected intrusion. "What? Quistis?" He stared blankly at the slender woman who'd approached his table so quietly. "What are you doing here? I thought you were scheduled for vacation…"

"It was cancelled, when Rinoa decided to stay." Without leave, Quistis sat down, her posture stiff and her expression haggard. "She _insisted_ that we go over the Garden's books. Some fool convinced her someone on the staff has been pilfering Stores. As if Stores contains anything a person would _want_!" She threw up her hands in obvious disgust. "But try convincing _her_ of that!"

"Ah…" The younger man briefly wondered how much trouble he would get into if he Sleeped his ranting friend.

"And then, while I'm trying to get back to my room, who should approach me but Vandor Aki. Aki! I despise that man." The golden-haired woman practically shook with tightly restrained loathing. "He asked a favor of me." Her eyes narrowed, her features pinched with distaste. "Since you're such a good friend of mine, he thought it proper that I be the one to inform you that your SeeD rank has been docked due to habitual absence."

"Today was the first day I missed!" However, righteous indignation was a somewhat foreign emotion, and soon gave way to jaded acceptance. "Ah hell. What's another two ranks, anyway? It's not like I use the money for anything."

"Three." Quistis pinched the bridge of her nose, then fished out her glasses, putting them on. "You're down to rank 6."

"But," Zell shook his head in denial, "failure to attend class is a two-rank fine. All punishments are detailed in the Regulations…"

"Two ranks lost to Aki's asinine spite. One rank lost," and her voice lowered in resignation, "due to failure to maintain a suitable SeeD appearance. Squall's in an absolutely horrid temper — and he feels that the state of your uniform is a direct mockery of Garden's dress code. His words, not mine."

"He's busting me for violating dress code?" The tattooed youth buried his face in his hands, and considered the pros and cons of homicide. "He _saw_ what happened last night; my boots are ruined!"

"Requisitions…"

"Xu hates me!" He peeked out from between interlaced fingers, hoping Quistis would contradict him.

"Well… Even she should be able to see you need some decent clothes."

.oO0Oo.

He had nothing against the elevator. It did its job adequately, taking people upstairs, and downstairs, and only rarely did it get stuck between floors. It was pleasantly decorated, and smelled of magnolias only slightly past their prime, and was bright, and airy, and hardly _felt_ like a real elevator at all. The air was filled with inoffensive muzak of the watered-down jazz variety, meant to sooth nerves, and relax muscles, and stifle any form of creative thought the listener might have.

The elevator was fine; it was where it was taking him Zell had problems with. He got off on the third floor, and stood to the side, while he gathered his nerve. Cid's former office had been transformed; small rooms now housed various administrators — all of them glad of the relocation, having seen enough of the basement to last them a lifetime.

Requisitions was to the right, next to the lift that ran between the third floor and the Garden's bridge. Its staff of six took four-hour shifts, occasionally doubled to allow the occasional day off. The wheaten-haired young man felt vaguely envious; his days regularly stretched over fourteen hours — though much of that, he admitted, was time spent waiting for the next class or lecture to begin.

There was a one in six chance that Xu was on duty. Tolerably good odds. Until he remembered that Xu _liked_ working Requisitions, and often spent an inordinate amount of her free time there, searching for ways to trim the Garden's budget, and scouring for new suppliers.

He knocked on the door, crossed his fingers, and held his breath.

"Come."

The reply was crisp. The voice was sharp. Groaning softly, Zell let himself in, arms crossing in a subconsciously defensive stance. "Hey Xu."

"Dincht." The dusky-skinned woman waved him towards a chair, her black button eyes unreadable. "What are you doing back here?"

He sat, though the chair was uncomfortable, and tugged at his rolled-up jacket sleeves nervously. "Boots, Xu." He lifted one leg, displaying his cross-trainers. "The Commander was offended by my mere presence this morning. I _have_ t' get a new uniform!"

"You were issued one three months ago." She swiveled her chair around, and pulled open one of the lower drawers on the left-most cabinet, searching for a file. "And one before that," she flipped through papers, her thin brows lowered in distaste, "five months ago." She threw the file on her desk, where it knocked over her paper-clip holder, sending a metallic cascade over the edge. "And boots are replaced once a year, period. We already discussed this; I don't see why you feel the need to waste my time."

Zell didn't want to look at her; Xu cowed him in a way few others could. She made him feel bad, the same way Squall managed to, or Instructor Aki. As if he were insignificant, and a bother, and a problem that someone else really should be taking care of.

"If I could get out, and buy them myself, I would," he defended himself, fingers laced tightly together underneath his knees to prevent them from fisting. "But none of my requests for time off have been approved. Dammit Xu, I'm desperate. I'd pay _you_ for the stupid uniform, if you'd let me. Doesn't Garden have any sort of reimbursement policy?"

The dark-haired woman pursed her lips, malice warring with professional ethics. Professionalism won, by the slimmest of margins. "I might be able to arrange something." She held up her hand, forestalling whatever the blue-eyed boy was about to say. "_Might_, I said. I'll need to get approval from Squall, at next week's meeting. Then I'll have one of the secretaries in Financial draw up the paperwork. If Legal passes it, I'll contact you."

"That could take months!"

"Then I suggest you start dressing in civilian clothes. You _do_ have those?"

Zell took steadying breaths in an attempt to forestall hyperventilating. "You — can't be serious. Civvies are allowed only to SeeDs currently on mission. I'd be docked the moment I tried stepping foot into a classroom…"

"That's not my problem." She closed the folder, and dumped it negligently back into the drawer. "A few people have managed dispensations." One eyebrow raised, showing what she thought his chances were at that option. "For exemplarily service. Or you could tender your resignation, and leave. I heard Dollet is currently hiring garbage men. You might find yourself — more comfortable there."

"Sure —" He was about to say more, when the door to the office slammed open, admitting a tall, trench-coated figure.

"Yo Xu!" Seifer greeted her, long legs covering the distance over to her desk in a single stride. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything important…"

"Nothing at all." The woman's eyes remained hooded, but her expression lightened. "Dincht was just leaving." Her look was pointed.

"Huh?" The scarred man looked behind him, momentarily startled. "Oh. Hi Chicken…"

Zell, busily gritting his teeth, didn't say anything at all.

"Anyway," Seifer turned his smirk back towards the black-eyed girl, "I accidentally dropped my gloves in a mop pail last night." He held up a damp mass of ruined leather. "I need t' get a new pair from Stores."

"Of course." Xu ripped the top sheet off her 10-90 pad, and began scribbling the order. "Anything else you need while you're down there?"

The tattooed boy snarled silently, and skulked out of the room, unnoticed by the other two occupants. Kicking off his cross-trainers, he considered throwing them through one of the large plate-glass windows, but settled for tucking them underneath his elbow. If he was doomed to constant chastisement, he'd prefer it be over his beach sandals, which were much more comfortable to wear at this time of the year.

He jabbed at the elevator button, his frustration increasing at the wait.

"Hey, Chicken, wait up!" Seifer waved his hand, the paper clutched in it fluttering in the man-made breeze. "Since we're both going t' Stores, we might as well share the elevator." The corners of his eyes crinkled with good humor, though the smirk remained upon his lips. "That is, if you don't mind my company?"

The smaller blonde shook his head, stepping forward as the doors chimed open. "Now there's a loaded question." Bitterness mixing with gratefulness, he selected two floors, and waited for the other man to join him. "I — owe you for last night."

"Owe?" The scarred man shrugged easily, and leaned against the brass railing. "As in one favor for another?" The smirk widened, baring even, milk-blue teeth. "I don't think so, Chicken. That's not the way it works."

Azure eyes peered through a wheaten tangle of hair at his companion. "No?"

"Not even." By now, the expression on his face in no way resembled a smirk — it was far too delighted and unselfconscious. "You say 'thanks,' and we both forget about it."

"Thanks?!"

"You're welcome." The elevator gave a slight jolt as it came to a halt, the doors opening upon the first floor. Seifer stared out, but made no move to exit. "Why'd it stop here? Stores is in the basement…"

"I'm not going to Stores." Zell pushed himself away from the wall, head downcast. "My request was denied."

"What?" Seifer would have asked more, but the elevator's doors closed between them. He lightly smacked the smooth polymer surface, but allowed himself to be carried down to the next level. Something was going on with the Chicken — but he'd have to wait until later to investigate. For now, he had a pair of gloves to pick up. And, perhaps, a pair of boots to finagle.

.oO0Oo.

Irvine offered a negligent wave of his hand as he spied his friend entering the lecture hall. "Hey. I was starting to think you wouldn't show." He closed the application currently running on the console, bringing up the Garden's message boards instead. "You wouldn't believe the rumors going around…" His lilac eyes swept over the younger man, missing little. "…or not. Is there a _reason_ you're wandering around barefoot?"

Zell scuffed the feet in question against the inlaid floor sheepishly. "Sorta had a temper tantrum." Sitting down next to the expatriated Galbadian, he brought his own console online, quick fingers cueing in last week's notes. "Couldn't find my sandals, couldn't _fit_ into my boots, and Squall's declared my cross-trainers persona non grata on campus. I was out of options, but damned if I was gonna miss this; Maidoon's supposed t' cover layered sensitivities today, right?"

"If he can get himself back on track." The mahogany-haired man stretched his legs out in front of him, nearly tripping a passing cadet. "He may still want to natter on about hybridization ratios since the Lunar Cry. Which, yeah, is interesting — but he's been going on about it for the past month."

"I'm so pleased you noticed." Maidoon, having entered from the back of the hall, removed Irvine's hat and firmly sat it on the console's touch pad. "At times, I do despair, when all I see you working on are the gossip boards." The elderly man tendered a smile to offset the rebuke. "Not that those, too, might one day save your life in a combat situation. Zell," and he dipped his head in welcome, "I'm glad you could make it."

And out of all of his instructors, the young blonde knew that Maidoon wasn't being sarcastic; the elderly scientist, for whatever reason, was always pleased to see him. "_I'm_ glad you warned us about the possibility of Bite Bug mutations. Ran into a nasty lot of them; things were throwing around Meltdowns like nobody's business — just like you predicted."

"Really?" The information seemed to give the instructor pause. "I — that's true, but I wasn't expecting it to happen so quickly. By any chance, do you remember the location you encountered them?"

"A few miles north of Dollet." Quickly, he brought up the area map he'd turned in with his mission report. "I was searching the area with Seifer Almasy; we'd gotten complaints from the local farmers about strange animal sightings. Point of contact's highlighted… and the arrows mark my best guess at the direction the swarm was moving in." He rubbed the palms of his hands together in remembered anxiety. "Which the Commander discounted, since he has it on the highest authority that there _are_ no Bite Bugs in that section of the continent. I was tempted t' go back and bag a few — and release them in his bathroom."

Irvine pulled his ponytail over his shoulder, and began braiding the long strands together. "What stopped you?"

"Rinoa. I had an absolutely horrid vision of her making pets of the overgrown flies." He gave a mock shiver, then nodded to the standing professor. "With your permission, Sir, I'll forward a copy of my report…"

"Excellent." Maidoon patted the curved top of the conjoined consoles, much as he petted the beloved sheep dog he'd had to leave at home. "Your superiors may ignore your warnings — that's at their discretion, but I most certainly will not. With the 'Bugs emergence, I'll need to regraph my projections…" He rubbed at his eyes, causing the grizzled hairs of his eyebrows to bush out spectacularly.

With the ponderous grace of a man who knows his place in the world, the scientist cum poorly paid guest speaker made his way to the desk at the front of the room, waving hello to his students as he passed. "Class. If you can tear yourselves away from Miss Tilmitt's admittedly lovely website for a moment, and bring up chapter Forty-Three…"

Zell focused on the lecture, typing quick notes in the mongrel shorthand taught in Balamb's small public schoolhouse. Maidoon, while eccentric, was also a genius, and his theories on the ways various magics overlapped were intriguing. Zell had suffered no harm during the encounter with the mutated 'Bugs, thanks to the Ribbon ability he never unJunctioned. Seifer, however, had also moved through the swarm with impunity — and that, Zell couldn't account for. The possibility of layered sensitivities offered a plausible solution.

He was busily putting his notes in order when the class ended, paying no heed to the SeeDs and cadets that were exiting the class. Completely absorbed in the task, it was with actual startlement that he felt Irvine elbow him in the ribs. "Hnn? What was that for?" Gingerly, he rubbed at his side, hoping he wouldn't bruise.

"That _man_ is glaring daggers at me again!" Irvine stealthily pointed to the front entrance. "I thought you were going to deal with him in the cafeteria this morning."

"Oh no," the smaller blonde moaned, daring a spooked glance at the door. Indeed, Diablos lurked there, swathed in shadows though he stood in a puddle of light, looking cross, and peeved, and a whole other handful of negative emotions rolled all together. "What's he doing here?"

"You find out," the lilac-eyed Galbadian ordered, shutting down his console and picking up his hat. "I'll just be busy sneaking out the back." He winked, and lightly slapped his friend's arm. "I've still got a clock to repair, after all."

"Tch. Just peachy." Saving his work, Zell stood, then hesitantly trudged over to the waiting Guardian. "Bloomin' peachy." It had been a long day, and he'd had enough of being polite. It seldom got him anywhere. "What the hell do you want?"

"I do believe I said I'd be seeing you around," Diablos answered, his voice snarky. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you've been trying your best to forget me."

"Yeah. If you didn't know better." The tattooed boy shoved his way past the taller man, by this point wanting nothing more than to get back to his room, where his bed awaited — unmade. "You still didn't answer my question. What — do — you — want?"

The black-clothed GF hurried after his erstwhile master, his velvet-lined cape billowing out behind him theatrically. "Shouldn't that be, what do _you_ want?"

Zell stopped, hunched shoulders tight with stress. "No. No no no. You did _not_ say that." He whirled around, glass-blue eyes almost manic. "I don't want — that. Not at all." He tugged at his bangs hard enough to pull a few strands loose. "Ma was right; it's not worth it."

"How do you know?" Softening his voice, the Guardian crept forward. "Did I really ask for all that much? A few minutes of your time; the pleasure of your company… You have no idea how lonely it was, being trapped in that lamp," he whispered, the sparking red embers of his eyes almost hypnotic. "Millennia spent with only my thoughts… tormenting me with memories of what it was to be free… Then you came," he sighed in remembered bliss, "and is it so hard to understand that I'm thankful? My dear, I _owe_ you…"

Something seemed terribly wrong with the GF's explanation, but Zell couldn't pinpoint it. "Owe me…" His hands weakly slid from his hair, to fall at his sides. "I wish…"

"Yes?"

He trembled, feeling lost. "I wish I had friends."

Diablos was taken aback. "Friends? You — do have friends." Venturously, he captured the blonde boy's hand, rubbing soothing circles across the prominent knuckles. "So very many."

"Yeah, right." Zell tugged his hand free, but not without regret. "So many, they go out of their way to snub me." He turned back around, and began walking towards the dormitory, deciding to take the steps instead of the elevator, which was usually packed this time of the night. "If they're my friends — then I wish they could at least _act_ like they care."

"Is that truly what you want?"

"…You can do that?"

Wine-dark lips gently twisting, the Guardian nodded. "I can. It is well within my power's scope." Quietly, he added, "Emotions are so very easy to twist…" He inclined his head, expression serious. "Is that your wish?"

The tattooed boy's answer came out strained, more question than affirmation. "Yes. That's — that's what I wish." His fingers twisted spasmodically at the hem of his jacket. "And what do you want in return?"

"Lunch, tomorrow? Would that be acceptable?"

"I don't see where I have much choice." Zell took the stairs two at a time, an unconscious attempt at running away from his problems. The dormitory's main hall came into view, the lights shining brightly in defiance of the hour. "You're — very dangerous, aren't you?"

"I don't mean to scare you." Diablos followed, his footsteps managing to echo, though he walked on thick-padded carpet. "It's been so very long, my dear, since I've had to deal with people; my responses are, perhaps, a tad exaggerated…"

"Maybe just a bit." The smaller blonde fished his key card from one pocket, and came to a stop outside the door to his room. "I think…" his voice trailed off, as he noticed what was laying against the doorjamb. Disbelieving, he picked them up, azure eyes gone crystalline in wonder. "Boots." Fangs flashed in a blinding grin. "Somebody left me boots!"

"So they did." The ebony-haired man was less than pleased. "It seems an odd sort of gift, though."

"Oh, no," Zell clutched the footwear to his chest, while running his key through the lock, "you don't understand. My boots were ruined last night, and Squall's been on my case all day about them…" He pushed open the door, and flicked on the light switch just inside the entrance. "It's why I'm currently barefoot."

"Indeed." Deep within his mind, thoughts raced, and Diablos didn't like where they were headed. "Then I am happy for you." Bowing, he hid his concerns behind a mask of gentility. "Until tomorrow?"

"Yes, yes, of course." The tattooed youth's smile had never faded, and he turned the full force of it upon the unsettled Guardian. "Tomorrow!" He closed the door, and eagerly began searching his dresser drawers for fresh socks. He couldn't believe someone had cared enough to surprise him with a well-crafted pair of desperately needed boots, and he could only come to one conclusion.

"Damn, he works fast!" And maybe, this time, his wish wouldn't backfire on him.

.oO0Oo.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head; this is your courtesy wake-up!"

Groaning, Zell burrowed deeper under the blankets, pulling his pillow over his head. "Go 'way!"

"Ah ah ah! You have class this morning, and I don't want to be blamed if you miss it." Irvine pulled the quilt back, and tossed it to the floor. "And really, you can't miss another day. Two days in a row requires an excuse from Kadowaki."

"Uurgh!" The tousle-headed blonde tossed a pillow in the other man's direction. "Okay, okay, I'm up." He slitted his eyes open, adjusting to the light pouring in from the open window. "What are you doing here, anyway? When I gave you the spare key, it was so you could water my ferns whenever I was away on missions…"

"Well, about that," Irvine had the grace to look sheepish, "I tried to fix your alarm. Really I did. But — ah — it fell into all these little pieces, and I can't seem to get them back together again." He shrugged, and fiddled with the end of his ponytail. "So, I figured I'd better come wake you up, this morning. Until I can buy you a new clock." He batted his lashes playfully. "Forgive me?"

"Doesn't an apology come before forgiveness?"

"That's Balamb manners. We do things differently in Galbadia." The lilac-eyed man sat down upon the bed, jostling its rightful occupant. "Please, please forgive me? I'll be your best friend."

"Idiot. You _are_ my best friend." Zell moaned in resignation, and sat up, pulling the sheet with him. "Tch. Fine. You're forgiven. Happy now?"

"Ever so much!" And beaming with delight, Irvine threw his arms around the younger man, pulled him close, and kissed him soundly on the lips.

"Wrk!" Pupils mere pinpricks floating in a sea of azure, he tapped at the taller man's knee until he was released. "Jeeze! Give a guy some warning, first!" He wiped at his lips with the back of his hand. "Not — not that it wasn't something, but what was it for?"

"Would you believe I just felt like it?" Irvine looked even more confused than his friend. "I…" He got up quickly from the bed, and backed away. "I'm sorry." He brushed light fingertips across his forehead. "I don't know what came over me…"

"I thought Galbadians didn't apologize?" Getting up as well, Zell draped the sheet around his waist, more for propriety than modesty. Before the other man could reply, he waved one hand, dismissing the question as rhetorical. "Never mind. Why don't we forget that happened, huh? Then Selphie won't have reason to gut me, next time I see her."

"Oh no! Sefie!" The lanky SeeD strode towards the door, one hand still massaging his forehead. "I was supposed to meet her for breakfast. What was I thinking? I just came to wake you up — and that was two hours ago."

"What?" The shorter youth stopped in his tracks, mouth gaping with shock. "You just spent _two_ _hours_ watching me sleep?"

"I told you, I can't explain it!" Irvine spent a few tense moments struggling with the doorknob, before he managed to twist it open. "I have to go. …See you later, okay?" And with a sudden burst of speed, he fled from the room, leaving the door swinging quietly behind him.

"Lovely. Wonderful. Grand." Sheet dragging behind him, he closed the door, then leaned against it. "Fricken' hell. Too late for breakfast, again." Wearily, he trudged back to his bed, and began to make it. "And I hafta put up with Aki. Until lunch." He kicked the footboard in frustration, which accomplished nothing but bruising his toes. "Fuck!"

But while he was getting dressed, he espied his new boots, and it gave him hope that his day might improve.

.oO0Oo.

"Oh, and Mr. Dincht, would you mind staying behind? I'd like to have a few words with you."

Zell wondered which words those might be. Aki liked to use large, obscure ones; their only purpose, to make his students look exceedingly doltish and unread. He placed them on pop quizzes, then prohibited his class from accessing the online dictionary. Well, this time Zell had an ace up his sleeve; he'd been studying the dictionary in his spare time, and was currently up to platitudinarian — and one day, he'd show up the despised instructor. If he could recall a single entry, when forced to do so.

"Yes?" The young blonde stood in front of the desk, gaze fixed on the floor so the man wouldn't see his expression and construe it as sullenness.

"I just wanted to say, excellent work on that essay on the repercussions of the Estharian occupation of the Mallinin Plateau in the latter half of Emperor Dashuu's reign. Your detailing on the trench works showed a real understanding of Leshun's strategic campaign." Aki smiled a dry, brittle smile, out of place on a face that was accustomed to scowling. "Truthfully, I wasn't expecting much from you, but…" He patted the young man on the shoulder, in a fatherly sort of way. "You've shown me what you're capable of. I expect great things from you, Mr. Dincht! Great things." His smile became wider, displaying the jagged edges of worn dentures.

"Ah, yeah… Thanks." Zell did his best not to flinch as the heavy hand came down on his shoulder once more. "Glad you liked it. But, I really need to go. There's someone I've gotta meet for lunch."

"Of course, of course. Don't let me keep you!" He was surely going to be in agony the next day, with all the smiling he was doing. "Not my favorite student."

"Sure," the blonde squeaked, binder held in front of his chest protectively. "Nice — nice talkin' with ya, Mr. Aki…" Nearly tripping over his feet in his haste to escape, he darted out of the classroom, into the crowded hall beyond.

"Zell!"

"Hey, it's Zell!"

"Oh, wow, he's like, the coolest! Zell, over here!"

"Huh?" The spiky-haired youth stopped in his tracks, partly from surprise, and partly because the hallway was filled with people; SeeDs, cadets, and faculty milling around, pointing at him, waving, and tossing bouquets of flowers plucked freshly from the Training Center. "I — oof!" He was knocked off balance when one overly-enthusiastic girl launched herself at him, slamming them both to the marble floor.

"Zellzie-snookums! We were starting to worry that Aki wouldn't let you out!" The girl sprawled across him lifted her head, fixing vapid, twilight eyes upon her victim. "And we've been waiting, oh, forever! It's much too cruel of you, to keep us waiting."

"Rinoa?!" He tried pushing her off, but his hands became entangled in the yards of spare fabric that was currently doubling as her outfit. "I… Waiting for what?" Despairing of freeing himself from the tangle, he tried scootching himself along the floor, but she followed after, body sprawled bonelessly. "And where's Squall?"

"Here," came the monotone voice from the back of the crowd, as the Garden's Commander pro tempore struggled to move forward, silent frowns failing to remove the students blocking his path. Lips a thin, disapproving line, he raised his voice, and demanded, "What's going on here?"

The tattooed boy huddled in on himself, trying his best not to touch the cooing Mrs. Leonhart. "I don't know!"

"Squall, my darling pookums!" Rinoa rose, miraculously free from the tangle her dress had caused. "It's Zell! See?" Bending over, she grabbed the young man by the back of his jacket, and hauled him to his feet. "I was going to invite him to lunch."

The crowd muttered angrily at the witch's assumption. _They_ had their own plans for Dincht, which didn't include losing him for the afternoon in the Leonharts' sumptuous quarters.

"Is that so?" Squall had managed to work his way to his wife, the fur around his face in disarray from the endeavor. He stared hard at Zell, his hazel eyes gone almost gray in thought. "Well, I see no problem in it." Then, incongruously, his pouty lips turned up in a friendly smile. "We've been meaning to have him over, for a while now…" Spontaneously, he hugged the smaller boy, the leather of his coat creaking in protest of the action. "Do say you'll come!"

"Urk!" Close to panicking, Zell slapped futilely at the arms holding him. "Can't! 'M already meeting someone! And he'd be sorta pissed if I'm late. So, ah, if you could let me go…"

The chestnut-haired man's smile faded, eyes returning to their normal impassivity. "Meeting — someone?" He let go, arms falling to his sides. "Who? Where? Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"I dunno!" Shaking his head, the blue-eyed boy slowly stepped back into the classroom. "Next time, I'll be sure someone sends you a memo!" Turning on his heels, he raced towards the back entrance of the room, mob of unruly admirers left behind to sort themselves out.

His path to the cafeteria was an obstacle course. People struggled to detain him, both singly and in groups. One enterprising cadet tried tripping him with a string tied between two benches, but he saw it in time, and managed to jump over it. He charged into the café, boots skidding against the floor as he promptly changed direction and headed towards the back corner.

"Diablos! Help!"

The Guardian Force looked up from the paper he was reading, expression stunned as he took note of the chaos spreading around his ex-master. "Oh dear."

"Not 'oh dear'!" He wriggled his way into the spare chair, twining his feet tightly through its legs. "Do something! Anything!"

"The price…"

"I **don't** care. Fix this! I don't want to be liked any more." He whimpered as Trepies #13 and #43 began tugging at his arms.

"As you wish." Diablos' eyes sparked crimson, and the two Trepies shuddered simultaneously. They blinked owlishly at each other, then walked away, their memory blurred and their heads just beginning to ache.

"Did — did you do it?" Zell asked, scanning the crowd that was sluggishly returning to their normal pursuits. "Is everyone back to normal?"

"As normal as they'll ever be." The ebony-haired man folded his paper, and set it aside. He sniffed, expressing his disdain. "Bunch of misfits, the whole lot of them. However — I certainly didn't expect my tampering to have — so much effect. They were supposed to be amicable, not…"

"Salacious? Man, I'm gonna have nightmares for months." He cupped his chin in one hand, and tried to read the paper's headlines. "What went wrong?"

"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea. But I will look into it." Diablos gestured one-handedly to a man standing a short distance away. "And, I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of ordering."

"No…" Zell took his elbows off the table while a dish of noodles was placed in front of him. "Kinda strange, though. The cafeteria doesn't have waiters."

"I — also took the liberty of hiring them." The older man stuck an elongated silver fork into his own plate of Gayla-stuffed tortellini. "A good deal simpler than relying on this establishment for a proper meal."

Zell raised one golden eyebrow, but otherwise made no comment. He dug heartily into his meal, his appetite honed from the morning's missed breakfast. "Really — good." He slurped a stray noodle into his mouth, leaving behind a smear of marinara. "Didja hire the chef as well?"

"In a way. I persuaded Contilly's to cater. The owner owes me a favor."

The tattooed boy wiped his mouth clean with the linen napkin so thoughtfully provided. "And so do I, I guess." He picked less enthusiastically at the remaining pasta. "For you reversing that last wish."

"Ah…" Diablos chewed daintily, washing down the mouthful with a sip of white wine. "As to that; perhaps I was wrong to demand recompenses so quickly. The situation was, after all, partially my fault." He inclined his head graciously. "Why don't we consider the slate clean?"

"Really? That'd be great." Zell drank from his water glass, leaving the wine alone. "You know, you're actually kinda nice — for a Guardian Force."

"I do try." The older man pushed his plate away, placing his unused napkin on top of it. "You're a much better conversationalist than I'd imagined, as well. Now, my dear, if you don't mind… There's some business I've put off; it's either attend to it now, or have it come back to haunt me later. By your leave?"

"Oh, sure!" Scrambling from the chair, Zell executed a clumsy bow. "Lunch was — great. Really great." He offered a heartfelt grin. "Thanks. For… Well…" He scratched at the back of his neck shyly. "Will I be seeing you around?"

"Assuredly." Diablos returned the bow, and exited the cafeteria, the room brightening in his absence.

.oO0Oo.

"Here we have a Grendel." Zell tapped the young creature on its snout. "This little feller is part of the dragon family, though he's missing any trace of wings — even vestigial ones. He's fast, though, so maybe that makes up for it." He beckoned his class forward, the other hand secure on one of the monster's horns. "He's weak against earth and wind, and holy, if you happen to have any in your inventory."

"What about status effects?" Andor asked, keeping his distance.

"Sleep, blind, and silence work fairly well. Mostly, though, you'll just hafta hack away at him. Not a lot of fun, especially if you're faced with a pack of them." The blonde pulled back on the horn, causing the beast to rise to its hind legs. "No scales, just fur, though it provides more than enough protection. Blunt weapons have just as much effect as edged. Your sword won't give you an advantage, Grogan. Longer reach, sure, but its weight will slow you down."

"Man. Isn't there anything I'd be effective against?" Grogan released the decorated pommel of his weapon in dismay. "Seems like I'd be just about worthless in any fight."

"Not necessarily." Zell scritched the Grendel underneath its chin, much to the monster's approval. "Against humanoid opponents, you're at an advantage. Unless they have guns. If that's the case, t' hell with your mission, and run. Get in a firefight, and the bullets will win, every time."

Layla, the coils of her flail tucked into her belt, cocked her head to one side intently. "High ranked SeeDs don't have to worry about gunshot wounds, though. Right?"

"Wrong. SeeDs may have spells that'll offer some security — but that's assuming they'll be given the time to cast them. For anyone other than a Sorceress, a bullet will _always_ move faster than a person can spell. So, unless they just happen to be walking around with Protect activated, they're just as mortal as the rest of us. And," he shook his head, warning off the forthcoming question, "don't lecture _me_ about Life. It doesn't always work, so try not t' take the risk in the first place."

"Sage advice." The deep voice came from the direction of the enclosing jungle. "There's also the possibility that a person will develop a tolerance towards certain spells. Terrible thing, to have a full inventory of Curagas, only to find out they won't work any more."

"Seifer…" Zell acknowledged the man walking towards his class with a tilt of his head. "Kids, I'd like ya t' meet Seifer Almasy. Guy knows what he's talkin' about. Happened to him, last year."

"Whoa, dude!" Brown eyes sparkling with excitement, Andor thrust out his hand. "Teach told us about you. Ya tried to take over the world. Honor to meet you!"

"Yes…" the scarred blonde replied noncommittally, shaking the proffered hand after a slight hesitation. "But I wasn't trying to 'take over the world' as you so glibly put it. I was trying to _destroy_ it. Know the difference. Know your enemy's motivation. And maybe, you'll survive long enough to make SeeD."

"Sir."

Tossing back her pale hair, Layla eyed the newcomer distrustfully. "Begging your pardon, Herr Almasy, but our duty as cadets are to follow orders, not question the methodology behind them. That's how we ended up on academic probation to begin with."

Grogan sat down on a nearby rock, his attention divided, but straying more often to the purring Grendel. "You're not being fair, 'Aya. We got in trouble because we abandoned our squad — for no good reason, as it turned out."

"We had every reason to suspect the target would head back to the hotel!" Andor protested vehemently. "And he woulda, if local law enforcement hadn't've picked him up first."

"Which is why you're stuck with me — and weren't sent packing back to your parents," Zell added, having heard numerous variations of the argument. "You made mistakes, your squad leader made mistakes; hell, even the supervising SeeD made mistakes. However," he fixed his sky-hued gaze on the flaxen-haired girl, "your mistake _wasn't_ in figuring out where your suspect was headed. Had things happened differently," and his gaze slid to the scarred man standing beside him, "you would've all been considered heroes. Even if you did disobey direct orders."

Layla blushed, her fingers tangling in the leaded barbs of her flail. "I — know that, I guess. It's just hard sometimes; I get so tired of the other cadets calling us screw-ups."

"Never that." The tattooed youth nudged the Grendel softly, eliciting little more than a muffled snort. "I want a paper on the Draconid genus, subject… surprise me. Just make sure you've got your facts accurate, your sheets double-spaced, and your thoughts in order. Don't you even begin t' try t' force me to make a leap in logic. And bring peppermints to class next week; we're gonna be working with Mesmorizes. Dismissed."

The three students bowed respectfully, Grogan after getting up from the rock he'd been sitting on, and began making their way towards the exit. Layla cast one last suspicious glance behind her, at the man standing so familiarly next to her Instructor. The Garden was full of stories about Almasy; cadets whispered them to each other after lights-out in the dormitories. It hardly reassured her, that the scarred man caught her glare, and smirked in return.

"Damn, Seifer," Zell shook his head, and led the drowsy Grendel back to its enclosure, "do you hafta intimidate my class like that? 'Aya's sure you're up to no good."

"Can I help it if people constantly misjudge me? Besides, who are you to say I'm not currently plotting something outrageously devious?" He held the gate in place while the shorter youth locked it. "There is my track record to consider."

"Tch. Your _track_ record is a steady 7 minutes 11 seconds; hardly anything to brag about. And I _know_ you're up to no good, but you're supposed t' put the kiddies' minds to rest. Layla's a good cadet, you're known to be untrustworthy — and for reasons I can't figure out, though I think karma and some minor deity's capricious sense of humor is involved — she's protective of me. See," his eyes flicked towards the scraggly stand of bamboo near the Center's entrance, "she didn't go out with the other two. Prolly waiting for you t' start waling on me, so she can jump out of hiding and play avenging angel."

"I'm almost sorry to disappoint her." Seifer strolled casually to the next enclosure, where a Mesmorize watched him with wary opal eyes. He pulled a handful of butter mints out of his pocket, and offered them through the wire mesh of the fence. Caution forgotten, the equine pranced forward to snuffle at the treats, gently lipping them up; the soft whiskers tickled the tall man's palm. "Is that what they think of me nowadays? I've never hit you."

"No." The tattooed boy removed his gloves and shoved them underneath his belt. "It's not your style. Why resort to physical violence when a few barbed words works just as well? Anyway, you knew that if you threw a punch, I'd hit you back."

"That could have something to do with it. It could have something to do with _all_ of it." His ice-blue eyes kept straying towards the bamboo; he struggled to keep his face impassive, while his lips yearned to twitch upwards. "SeeDs that hold a grudge don't dare pick a physical fight with you, so…" He wiped his hand against the leg of his pants.

"So?"

"So, as long as they stop short of actual violence, they can tear you apart with impunity. You never try getting back at them. Your friends, yes, but you…?"

"I won't sink to their level."

"Exactly. And that's why you're their favorite target."

Zell stiffened at the other man's words. "And you know this from personal experience?"

"Heh." He slapped the younger boy's shoulder companionably, and began steering him towards the exit. "I just like messin' with you, Chicken. Spite has nothing to do with it." He waved at the ill-concealed girl as they passed her, calling out, "And a good evening to you, Fräuline. Will you be accompanying us further?"

Layla got up from her crouch, features fixed in cold disdain. "Herr Almasy; your smugness is unbecoming. We _are_ watching you."

"I consider myself warned. Have you considered, however, the repercussions of being caught eavesdropping on SeeD personnel? You're already on probation."

The girl's pale eyes widened in shocked realization. "I — but — Instructor!" she beseeched, arms stretched pleadingly towards Zell. "I didn't mean — that is, I meant, but — please don't send me home!"

"'Aya," he told her quietly, "I believe you have a report you should be working on, along with whatever Miss Trepe assigned you. Dismissed."

She wrung her hands together. "But Instructor —"

"Dammit, Layla! Do you really think Seifer's gonna murder me the moment you're out of sight? Do you think so little of me, that I need the protection of a cadet?"

"Sir! No…" She saluted hastily, and with one last wild-eyed glare at the scarred man, fled the Training Center.

Seifer chuckled, once the great doors had closed. "A little hard on her, weren't you? Perhaps it wasn't your life she was trying to save, but your virtue. Ever think of that?"

"From you? Please." He sighed ruefully, and walked forward, triggering the doors to slide back open. "Give it a few years, though, and it might need saved from her."

"I'll protect you, then, from the horrors of a schoolgirl's first crush." The gallantry of his offer was somewhat ruined by the leer he turned upon the smaller man. "If you want saving by then, of course."

"You're too kind." They walked, side by side, down the marbled hallway. "Is there something you wanted? Or did you just show up to give my students something to gossip about?"

"Me?" The ruddy-blonde shrugged. "Just wanted to know if the boots fit all right. I wasn't sure of the size, and Stores' records weren't much help. If they need exchanged, better to do it early, before Xu catches up with the paperwork." He'd taken several more steps before realizing that the other boy was no longer beside him. "Chicken?" He turned around, to see what the holdup was.

"…You left the boots?"

"Ya don't need to look so surprised. I was down in Stores anyway. You needed them, and Xu was just being her normal bitchy self about it."

"Yeah, but… But that woulda happened before…"

"Huh?" the older youth prodded, when it seemed Zell had no intention of continuing. "Before what?"

"It — doesn't matter." He shook his head, taking care not to make eye contact. "Just, why? Why'd you do it?"

"Why not?" He reached out, and tugged down one spiky, golden lock of hair. "Like I said, I was there. And you needed them. It's nothing, between friends, right?"

Zell winced as his hair was pulled. "Friends, Seifer?" The tone was doubtful; bleak. "When did that happen?"

"Around the same time you stopped pitching tantrums whenever I called you Chicken."

The tattooed blonde hissed at the accompanying tug. "Did you ever stop to consider that's also when you dropped the wuss part of it?"

"Never occurred to me." He released his grip, spreading his hands expansively. "We're either friends, or enemies, because there's too much histroy between us for you to ever walk past me as a mere acquaintance. I made my choice; I have enough people already who wish me dead. And I'd like to think you already made yours."

"Yeah?" He struggled to get his hair back into place.

"Yeah. You don't call me Almasy." The smile he offered was tentative. "I appreciate that."

"Marvelous. I have your appreciation." Though he was trying for sarcasm, he couldn't entirely conceal his astonishment. "Does that mean you'll start using my name any time soon?"

"Not likely, Chicken. Can't let you get too far above yourself." The smirk was back, as if the shy smile had never been. "Look, if the boots are okay, I need to go. I've been trying for the last two days to get reservations at Bartollo's; with any luck, there's been a cancellation."

Zell blinked bemusedly, giving up on his hair for the time being. "What, you got a date, or something? Bartollo's is expensive."

"Or something." The taller man straightened the collar of his coat. "If ya wanna make a good impression, you've gotta impress the hell outta them, right? Otherwise, instead of amour, they say they'll call you later. Which they never do, huh? But — I hope — maybe this time it'll be different."

"I'll refrain from wishing you luck."

Seifer stared at him oddly, icy eyes partially hidden behind bronze lashes. "The things that come back to haunt a person," he said wryly. "If you're willing to wish me luck, I'm willing to accept it. I think I'm going to need all the luck I can get."

"Actually, I think you're better off without my wishes. Really." Zell pushed him lightly forward. "Go. Go make your reservation. And if you catch Layla spying on you, try not t' scare her too badly, okay?"

"Does that mean I have permission to scare her?" He took a step back, laughing. "I'll be sure to tell her that — after I sneak up on her. Have a good night, Chicken!"

"'Night!" He waved the other man off, then sat down on a nearby bench, feeling somewhat numb. He'd never thought to consider Seifer a friend, not Seifer, who'd made it a point to torment him throughout his childhood. And yet… Seifer had never thrown him into the fountains, or tripped him in the cafeteria, or pulled any of the cruel pranks that some of the other cadets had delighted in. Seifer had called him names — then stood patiently by while he'd yelled back. He was uneasy to think of it, now — so many years later — that perhaps he had Seifer to thank, that he hadn't grown entirely introverted; that he could, in fact, voice his displeasure, when his Ma had taught him to stay quiet, as all Balamb children were.

The thought of Seifer as — not an enemy — actually warmed him, because, no matter what else was said about him, the man stood by his friends. Often to his own detriment. Zell hoped Seifer's date understood that; understood that the man was loyal to a fault, and wouldn't use it against him.

And Zell squelched the stirrings of jealously, that Seifer might have found someone to love; that Irvine and Quistis had people to turn to, and even Squall had Rinoa, as twisted as their relationship was, while he had no one. Unless he counted one nearly-obsessed, overly-paranoid girl-child who was, he would swear, hiding behind one of the potted palms lining the entrance to the garage. He stared down at his boots, and contemplated feeling sorry for himself.

"It's not as hopeless as that, my dear."

"Diablos." He didn't bother looking up as the Guardian Force sat down next to him. "You do have a habit of appearing when I'm particularly pathetic, don'tcha? I'd think you'd have more important things to occupy your time."

"No… Truly, I don't." Onyx eyes faded to a more welcoming sable. "I shared your mind for a year; I find that I'm missing your company. And whatever you may think, you've never been pathetic, not to me." Nimble fingers stroked his chin, which was today sporting a goatee; it suited him, and made the gesture look more natural. "But that is something we can talk about in greater lengths at another time. For now, I do believe you were about to make a wish."

"I was?" The azure-eyed boy tilted his head, unsure. "If you're talkin' about me wishing Seifer luck — that was just a joke. Ask Quistis about it some time."

The ebony-haired man scowled in disapproval. "That won't be necessary, I'm sure; Almasy has no need of luck, nor would I grant it to him."

"What, you got something against him?"

"Did I say that?" Irritably, he rearranged the folds of his cloak so that it no longer pooled about his feet on the floor. "It's only that something about that young man strikes me as — ominous."

Zell leaned back against the wooden slats of the bench, and snorted. "You have heard the story about the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Was it an enchanted pot?"

"Umm…" The blonde stared at his companion, momentarily speechless. "…I don't think that was the point of the fable. But, I guess it woulda had to've been enchanted, if it was name calling…" He trailed off, biting at his lower lip. "What I was trying to say, was, you're kinda ominous yourself, ya know? What with all the black, and the shadows, and Dark Messenger and all. I know _I_ was freaked, when you showed up after the ball."

The darkly-dressed man seemed bewildered. "You were? But I chose this form precisely because it was innocuous; I even left my wings behind. Have you any idea how much I miss my wings?" His hands toyed with the edges of the cloak, billowing it. "This just isn't the same."

"I'm sorry; I didn't know. But — you're still as intimidating as hell." He shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

"—I'll work on it." Jet eyebrows rose sardonically. "And now? Do I still — intimidate you?"

"Honestly? A bit. Though, I dunno, you're not as scary now."

"I'm glad. I never wanted to scare you, my dear. My sole desire is to make you happy. Speaking of which…"

"Oh, right." Zell pulled up his knees, and crossed his arms over them. "You said I was about to make a wish."

"Indeed. So here I am."

"Not that I'm not grateful, but I wasn't really planning on wishing for anything. Not a real wish, at least." The strand of hair Seifer had played with earlier fell across his face, and he brushed it back ineffectually.

Diablos twined the wheaten lock around his finger, and draped it behind the young man's ear. "But it could be a real wish. Such a thing is not beyond my power. All you need to do is speak it aloud, and it shall be granted. For a price."

"Uh-huh. So, what would you want in return? Is this where we start talking about souls? 'Cause I know this kind of wish doesn't come cheaply."

"Again you talk about souls!" His eyes glowed redly. "I tell you, I'm quite content with where yours currently resides."

"Then what price? Or will this be another wish that backfires? Is that it?"

The Guardian stood angrily. "I see how little you trust me. A kiss, my dear; all I would ask is a kiss."

"A kiss? From — me?" The question came out weakly, thick with disbelief and painful self-awareness. "Not much of a bargain on your part. Diablos, are you sure?"

The long-haired entity looked down, his cheeks still flushed with indignation. "I am sure. A kiss, from you and none other, tomorrow afternoon, at the front gates of the Garden. For that, I will grant your wish, and consider it a fair trade." He brushed a fleck of lint from the brocade of his shirt.

"—Okay. Okay." Zell drew in one shaky breath, tightening the grip around his knees. "I wish somebody loved me. And please, you know my thoughts; don't twist this around so it comes out all wrong. Not that. I'd rather you not grant it at all, than have it turn out to be false."

"It will be done." He tilted the young man's chin up, and stared down into anguished blue eyes. "True love, I do promise you. With no bitterness to sour the experience." He backed away, and shadows played about his feet. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," the tattooed boy agreed, his forehead resting against his knees, and his hands pressed hard between them and his chest. "For better, for worse; it doesn't really matter any more." He listened as the footsteps of the GF faded into the general murmur of the hall. "Why do I even bother?" He thought about getting off the bench, and heading back to his room, but then he thought about what the morning might bring, and he decided to stay by the fountains a bit longer.

.oO0Oo.

"Hey Zell, wakey wakey! Today's forecast calls for high clouds, high winds, and the occasional pillow flung by grouchy Dinchts." Irvine tossed the pillow back on the bed, and launched himself as well. "Up up, lazy boy! Don't force me to tickle you!"

"Don't you dare!" The smaller man pulled the blankets up over his head. "Shit, is this how you wake up Selphie? What time is it?"

"An hour and a half before you're due in Aki's class. And do you _really_ want me to get you up the same way I get Sefie going in the mornings? 'Cause, if you do, you'll have to be the one to explain it to her afterwards. She'll be mad that she wasn't invited t' join us…"

Zell whimpered, and huddled deeper within his quilt. "I want my clock back. I really, really want my clock back." Greatly daring, he peeked out from his shelter. "Have you fixed it yet?"

"Ah, sure, if you don't mind that all it picks up are Estharian military transmissions now." The Galbadian bounced, causing the headboard to thud against the wall. "They're test flying the Yggdrasil prototype today, and Laguna's on the rampage because the palace ran out of that honey-almond shampoo he likes so much."

"Poor Kiros." He staggered out of bed, knuckling the sleep out from the corners of his eyes. "And could you stop bouncing? I can't imagine what the guy next door must be thinking."

"He's probably thinking that I'm waking you up the same way I do Sefie! Stop glaring at me and go shower." Irvine tossed his ponytail back over his shoulder, and pouted. "You're no fun today. And to think, I was actually going to apologize."

Yawning, the younger man stumbled towards the bathroom. "I thought Galbadians didn't apologize."

"We don't." Getting up, the mahogany-haired man began straightening the sheets. "So, do you forgive me? Pretty pretty please?" He pulled the quilt back into place, then sat down patiently, while the sound of running water filled the room. Once the faucets had been turned off, he tried again. "Really, I don't know what came over me, I just—"

Zell stuck his head out the doorway, drops of water falling from his hair and spattering against the floor. "It's okay. You're forgiven. Was Selphie okay with it?"

"Hmm? Yeah. Strangest thing, though. She said that if she hadn't been stuck in an early class, she would've ran over here to jump you herself." He crossed his legs at the ankles, and stretched. "Who would've ever guessed that _honesty_ could work in a relationship? I don't think I'll ever understand Balamb customs. But I guess it works for you. At least we're not in Trabia; I think proper behavior there is for me to sleep across her doorway at nights."

"Is she still talking about transferring?" He came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry, sans jacket, which he'd left draped across the dresser.

"Not lately. I think she realizes Trabia Garden isn't going to be rebuilt; Squall claims it's a matter of finances, but Rinoa says it's because _everyone_ knows Trabia is a sucky place to live, and that there's no one up there capable of hiring SeeDs." He tossed his shorter friend a comb. "And are you doing your hair? You have time for breakfast, if you leave it be."

The tattooed boy quickly brushed the snarls from his hair, but otherwise left it alone. "Breakfast, at this time of the morning?" Throwing on his jacket, he stuffed his feet into his boots, paying no notice to the stiffness of the new leather. "You're on."

"All right!" They left the room, and made their way to the cafeteria — a busier place at that time of the morning; the line for the counter reached to the entrance. Lilac eyes bright with amusement, Irvine settled his hat more firmly on his head. "I forget what it's like in here. There's something to be said about having your meals at odd hours."

Zell groaned in agreement, and waited, while the students ahead of them were served. The cashier smiled at him when it was their turn; he smiled back. They knew each other well.

"I'm sorry, sugar," she told him, wiping her hands on her smudged white apron, "but we're all out of hotdogs."

"Oh well, guess I'll hafta —"

"Wait…" Irvine leaned across the counter, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Aren't those hotdogs over there?" He pointed, in case there was any question of where he was looking. "In the warmer?"

"Those?" The woman turned around, and did her best to act surprised. "Why, those… They're… Oh dear. Yes, they're hotdogs. Zell, sugar…?"

"My usual, please." He pulled the taller man back, and whispered in his ear, "I don't actually _like_ the hotdogs, you know. Appearances." He took the bowl of cream of wheat the cafeteria worker handed him, thanking her as he placed it on his tray.

"Fooled me." He grinned lazily. "Fool lots of people, don't you?" He turned his smile upon the woman behind the counter. "And you're no better than he is. Well, what do you have for me today?"

"Chorizo, if you think you can handle it."

"A challenge. Bring it on. Kadowaki should've had a chance to stock up on antacids since last time. Does it come with potatoes?"

"Only for you, honey." She passed the plate over, and he sniffed at it hungrily. "If you hurry, I think you can catch that table in the back."

"Thanks." Zell sprinted to it, and flung himself into one of the chairs just as a group of Trepies came up. They grumbled, but left when Irvine joined him.

"That was mature." The mahogany-haired man wiped off his chair with a paper napkin before taking his seat. "You're not supposed to piss off the Trepies; they gang up on you late at night."

"Sure, but I can tattle on them to Quistis, and they know it." He stirred his cereal while looking about the room, seeing who else was up at this time of the morning. "There are advantages to having her as a friend. Besides the cram sessions on military theory." He sipped at his water; it tasted faintly of lemon. "And her fashion advice."

"Tell me about it. She can spot a flawed stone from across the room. Saved me a lot of gil, when I was buying Selphie's birthday present." He mixed the potatoes into the sausage, then smothered them both in salsa. "So, work things out with tall, dark, and creepy yet?"

"Ah — getting there. He's not _that_ bad; I talked with him again last night."

"How did you get mixed up with him, anyway?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, if I told you, which I'm not." He shook his spoon in dire warning. "So don't press." A shadow fell across the table, and he sat down the spoon, quickly straightening in his chair. "Commander."

"Wha, Squall?" Irvine garbled around a mouthful of sausage. "What's up?"

"I'd like to speak to Zell." When the lilac-eyed man made no move to leave, he added, "Alone."

"Yeah, sure, kick _me_ away from the table." The Galbadian rolled his eyes, but grabbed his plate and stood nonetheless. "So Zell, see you after Aki's lecture?"

"No, there's something I need t' take care of. Maybe I'll catch up with you later." He waved his friend off, then turned his attention to the chestnut-haired man scowling down at him. "You can sit, if you want. There's a free chair, go figure."

Squall's frown deepened. "Xu says you stole a pair of boots from Stores."

"Xu says a lot of things." Zell shrugged nonchalantly, though his abdominal muscles clenched painfully, and his cereal sat like lead in his stomach. He hoped he would be able to keep from being sick, at least until after the hazel-eyed man had left. "Are you throwing me out of Garden?"

"Xu is incensed, and claims you've requested a new uniform three times in the past two months, all of which she denied, as per regulations."

"I'm sure she kept my requests on file. Commander, is there a point to this? We both know stealing from Stores is a dismissible offense. I have a new pair of boots, and Xu never approved my requisition for them. It's an open-and-shut case. I'll be out of here in an hour."

"You'll be in class in an hour." He placed a pink sheet of paper on the café table; the 10-90 was filled out, and counter-signed. "I've approved your requests. You can pick them up whenever. Xu is awaiting court martial; Rinoa's audit turned up her pilfering last night." He sighed with annoyance. "She's never going to let us live it down that she was right. I'm also restoring the ranks you lost due to various infractions that haven't been entirely your fault, or so I've been told. Repeatedly." His belts rasped together as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Sometimes, you need to tell me when I'm being an ass."

"Commander, thank you." He carefully picked up the piece of paper; it betrayed the trembling of his hand. "I didn't think I was ever gonna get this cleared up."

The scarred man sighed again, deeply, and troubled. "Seifer was right."

"Sir?"

"You used to call me Squall." He briefly covered his eyes with one black-gloved hand. "Never mind. Rinoa was hoping you could join us for lunch tomorrow. Or whenever would be convenient for you."

"Tomorrow? I — I think I could manage that."

"Good. We'll see you then." He nodded, and walked back to the table where his wife was waiting, her twilight eyes curious.

Checking the time, Zell hurriedly took care of his breakfast dishes and rushed to class. There, he brought his console online, skimming through the notes he'd made the previous day. Aki entered the room, his expression more dour than normal.

"If you'll be seated," the balding man informed the class, "we'll begin today's lesson. But first…" he pulled a folder from his suitcase, tossing it flippantly on his desk. "Mr. Dincht, my memory is a tad hazy on what occurred yesterday. However, I do know that your essay on the Estharian occupation of the Mallinin Plateau is sub par, far below even your own less than stellar standards. Your detailing on the trench works was insipid, and your key points on Leshun's strategic campaign were more than likely plagiarized from an encyclopedia article. Rewrite it."

"Sir, with all due respect," he stood, turning off his console in the process, "I took this class four years ago, and passed it. I thought a refresher course would do me some good, but you do nothing more than quote from the text, and give pop quizzes in vocabulary. There're better things I could be doing with my time."

"Sit back down! I won't stand for such insolence in my class. Consider yourself on report."

Zell ignored his command, and stalked to the front of the room. "Mr. Aki, try not to make more of an ass of yourself than you already have. If you'd check your attendance sheet, you'd notice the asterisk after my name. I'm not your student, I'm an observer, and not officially enrolled in this class. And I've seen enough of you to last a lifetime. Good day."

"Don't you dare leave!"

The tattooed youth bared his fangs, and even Aki could sense the threat behind the gesture. "Are you going to try to stop me?" He shook his head in contempt as the balding man dropped back into his chair. He walked out of the classroom, and made his way towards the stairs, his mood lightening as he went.

"Zell!" The call came from the lecture hall he was passing, and he paused, looking inside the door. Maidoon was there, along with a handful of SeeDs and cadets; he was in the process of shoving slides into a projector, and several had fallen to the floor, unnoticed. "However did you escape from Vandor?"

"I think —" the tousled-haired young man tugged at the rolled-up sleeves of his jacket, "— that I threatened him with bodily harm."

"Ah, so he won't be expecting you back. Excellent. Come in, come in; I was about to show my updated projections on Bite Bug mutations. Your report was most helpful. Kinneas, move over, he can share your screen; goodness knows you've copied his notes often enough."

Zell nodded, and slid onto the bench next to Irvine.

.oO0Oo.

Diablos was waiting by the turnstiles, still darkly elegant, but this time dressed in a fashionable business suit. Zell swallowed, his mouth gone completely dry. He owed the Guardian Force a kiss, and the time had come to pay up. He took a step forward.

"Hey Zell, hold up a moment, would ya? I've been searching all over for you."

"Seifer?" He turned around, and watched the scarred man approach.

"Heh. Finally found you." He took the time to catch his breath; the material of his dress shirt stretched becomingly with each inhalation. "Wanted t' let you know I got those reservations for Bartollo's."

"That's — wonderful. Congratulations." He glanced over his shoulder, where the GF was waiting impatiently. "Are you on your way there now?"

"Depends. Are you coming with me?"

Zell ran a hand through his limp bangs, nonplussed. "With you?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

The older man laughed; it sounded forced. "Well, I'd look pretty stupid there by myself, wouldn't I?"

"So your date stood you up?"

"Gods…" Frustrated, he grabbed the shorter boy by his shoulders and shook him gently. "I'm not good at this, so cut me some slack. I made the reservations for _us_. Okay? There's no one else. There never was." His grip became momentarily tighter. "There's just you, Zell. Come to dinner with me?"

"You — I — sure. Yeah." Azure eyes blinked rapidly, dazedly. "Okay. —I'm your date?"

"That's what I'm hoping."

"Oh. That's — good. Really good." And he smiled in relief. "Because, you know, I was incredibly jealous over this, last night."

Seifer smirked, and dropped his arms. "Were you? I can't say that I mind. So, are you ready? I signed out a car for the evening."

"Can I meet you outside? There's something I've gotta take care of first."

"Not a problem." The ruddy-blonde made his way through the turnstiles, leaving behind Zell, and a stunned Guardian Force.

"Diablos!" The tattooed boy ran forward, and wrapped his arms around the darkly-dressed man. "Diablos, thank you! I don't know how you did it, but today has been absolutely perfect."

"But —"

"I know, I know, a kiss." Zell tilted his head back, and placed a sweet, chaste kiss against wine-dark lips. "Thank you," he whispered, "for giving me this chance."

"But —"

"He's waiting for me." The young man dashed for the turnstiles, then whirled around once more. "I'll see you later, right?"

"But —" The golden-haired boy left before he could answer, and Diablos watched him go, the bouquet he'd been hiding behind his back dropping to the cracked cement floor. "—I had nothing to do with this." His voice rose with anguish. "You were supposed to fall in love with me!"

The shadows behind the grieving Guardian darkened, and a voice hissed from its depths, "That's the problem with these mortals; so fickle, and light of fancy."

Diablos recognized the voice, much to his dismay. "Hades, what are you doing here?"

"Much the same as you, I suppose." A figure stepped out of the blackness, a skeleton of malformed bones draped in stained crimson. "Granting a wish here, a wish there. All for a price. But I'm not such a fool as you, to entertain juvenile notions of love. I prefer my payments to be a bit more substantial."

The ebony-haired man leaned against the wall for support. "What have you done?" It was not so much a demand, than a plea.

"Granted Almasy's wish, of course. Noble of me, was it not? He gets to spend his life, as long or as short as it may be, with Dincht, and then I get his soul for the rest of eternity."

"He wouldn't agree to those terms." Diablos' eyes shone like fanned embers. "You tricked him somehow."

"Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn't. It doesn't really matter; I have his signature on the contract." Hades grinned, the skull gaping open to display yellowed, rotted teeth. "And do you know what delights me the most? The two of them will be inseparably bound before the evening's done. I get two for the price of one."

"You can't have Zell!" Diablos lashed out, shedding his human form. Clawed fists dragged at the reeking crimson robe. "I'll—"

"What? Kill me? Rend the flesh from my bones?" Skeletal arms came up in mockery. "There is nothing you can do. Both men are mine; they'll brighten my realm, for a while. Perhaps, some day, I'll tire of them. Perhaps not."

"What if," scaled brows lowered over burning eyes, "I took their place? Destroy the contract you tricked Almasy into signing, and you'll have my service for a thousand years. It's a fair deal."

"Not fair enough by half. Two thousand years; it's a trifling amount of time compared to their combined eternities.

Diablos shivered, his talons tearing long rents in the rotted cloth. "Two thousand years. And no tricks! Swear to it."

"I do so swear." And the bones of the skeleton turned to mist, and the robe tumbled around a much smaller person, whose pale arms were busily pushing long strands of ebony hair away from her face. She grinned impishly up at the fuming Guardian Force, eyes the color of garnets sparkling with mischief. "Mother will be so happy. It's hell getting you to come home and visit, brother."

"Can you blame me? The place is positively dead." Diablos twitched his tail, accidentally taking out the nearest turnstile. "I'm going to miss Zell. I love him, Hades."

"I know." She reached up, and patted his rough-scaled cheek. "But he wasn't meant for you, sweetie. Don't fret about it. Mom's been dying to introduce you to a nice young fellow she met a few hundred years back. I'm not really sure _what_ he is, but he has a great sense of humor."

"Mother has abysmal taste! Just look at Dad!"

"Take it up with her. It's time for us to be going." Hades tugged the robe tighter about herself, sinking back into the shadows. Diablos waited a moment longer, bidding goodbye to the place he'd called home for the last few days. He'd promised Zell that all he wanted was to make him happy; perhaps him leaving was the best way to assure that. Somewhat spitefully, he _wished_ Seifer luck, then he was gone in a flurry of screeching, black bats.

.oO0Oo.

_**A few more notes:**__ I started this story over a year ago. The writing style may vary from part to part, but surprisingly, it's stayed fairly close to the original plot. The only difference is the ending; I'd planned on leaving it dark, and even now, I'm not sure if I've made the right choice in turning it into something happier. However, there are bits of humor scattered throughout the ficcie, and I feel this ending matches the general tone of the story better. I dunno. I'm gonna fret about it for the next few weeks. _

_I don't feel that any of the characters were terribly OOC; they're teenagers, and they're all suffering from teenage angst. Which makes them act oddly at times. So no, Squall's not a complete bastard, he's just having a few bad days. Zell's not really unloved and friendless, he's just depressed. Irvine's not really an airhead, he's just, umm… not suffering from teenage angst. He's got himself together, and is busy enjoying life. Go Irvie! _

_Hades is from FFVII. It's a wicked summon. And yes, it was Hades that made Seif immune to the mutated Bite Bugs. I have no idea what Hades true gender is in the game, and you couldn't pay me enough to go peaking underneath its robes. _

_Tammy, I hoped you liked the ficcie. I know it's not quite what I presented it as ^^;; But Seifer won Zell in the end, and everyone's happy, 'cept for Diablos, whose currently being set up on blind dates by his over-bearing Mama. _


End file.
